Everything There Is To Be Shown
by fordhamalias
Summary: Nate/OFC, Brad/Nate pre-slash Since when does he have fantasies about his roommate’s mouth?


**Disclaimer:** Based on the eye fucking of the fictionalized characters portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard & Stark Sands in the HBO miniseries, and not intended as any reflection on the real people bearing these names.

**Notes:** Title is taken from Blink 182's '**Voyeur**.' A gift for idrilfinial and a prequel of sorts for my GK College!AU universe. My brain really wanted to write het porn which is really difficult in a fandom that has only male characters.

Reviews are and make my day.

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With glossy raven colored hair and legs for days, Olivia Carmichael is a living, breathing, Maxim wet dream and often the topic of conversation at Bravo house.

Many pledges have tried to nail her mark — worth two hundred points in their competition of sexual conquests— and the crashes and burns have been epic. Manimal is still trying to live his attempt down.

Olivia only has eyes for Nate, who until four beers and an Irish Car Bomb ago was apathetic to her advances.

Now, Ray is babbling at him rapid-fire, and Brad is considering hiding the remainder of the Red Bulls because Jaeger + Red Bull + Ray Person do not add up to Brad making it through the party without choking him out.

"Fuck, Brad. Olivia's practically gagging for it. What the fuck does Fick have that we don't?"

"Shut up, Ray." Brad says, eyes focused on the leather sectional where Olivia has slipped onto Nate's lap, his hand splayed high up on her thigh. Nate whispers something into her ear, and she leans forward laughing high and flirty. Brad crushes the plastic cup in his hand.

Olivia stands up, pitching forward slightly to pluck Nate's beer from his grasp before swiveling to bend over the table and set the bottle down.

Her dress rides up high on her thighs and Nate's eyes slide appreciatively across her ass. He gets to his feet, fingers sliding around her waist possessively, Olivia not putting up anything resembling a fight as Nate steers her toward the bedrooms.

"Nate!" Brad calls, realizing the second after it leaves his lips that he has no idea what he is actually going to say.

Nate turns to look back over his shoulder at Brad, raising his eyebrows expectantly. When Brad doesn't say anything Nate shakes his head, rolling his eyes. There is a smile tugging at his lips.

Brad watches Nate's retreating form curved around Olivia and sets down his drink. His stomach is sending unpleasant signals to his brain, and he's not sure whether he needs to piss or puke.

Brad makes his way down the hallway to the bathroom on the first floor and finds with relief that it's the former. He splashes some water on his face before drying it hastily with his shirtsleeve. The fact that there are never any hand towels in the bathrooms is just undignified.

Brad takes one last lingering look at the party still going on, and decides to head in the other direction. He wants to duck into an empty bedroom for awhile until his head stops pounding, sleep off whatever is making the room spin.

When he gets upstairs, most of the doors are closed except for the second to last door on the right, which he nudges further open. Brad takes a step in and catches sight of rumpled sheets, before hearing what sounds decidedly like a soft gasp. He notices two figures on the bed.

_Whoops_.

Brad backs out a hasty retreat, taking a step forward before changing his mind and turning on his heel.

He's pretty sure he just walked in on Nate.

He stays in the doorway for a moment out of morbid curiosity, letting his eyes adjust to the sight in front of him. From this angle all he can see is the caramel expanse of Olivia's thighs and the crown of what must be Nate's head.

Olivia pants, breathy and low, her fingers tugging at Nate's hair before he lifts his head from between her legs.

Nate's mouth is shiny and red, covered in her wetness.

"You like that?" He asks. At her affirmation, Nate licks his lips before diving back between her parted thighs.

_Jesus Fucking Christ. _ Brad's cock is throbbing hard in his jeans, and he presses his palm against himself to ebb the sensation. He needs to be elsewhere right this second before he soaks his jeans in the hallway watching his roommate go down on some chick. And wouldn't that be a story for the ages?

He heads down to the next room, sighing with relief when he is able to lock himself inside and then realizing the catastrophic error when he hears a moan of pleasure through the paper thin dorm walls.

Brad places his palms against his ears, ineffectively attempting to drown out the sound and recognizing that in thirty seconds he's either going to scream or take matters into his own hands, and _fuck it_ cause he's already hard as hell and leaking, and he needs to take care of this before it gets even more embarrassing.

Brad decides in that instant to swallow his pride and kick off his jeans, pre-come pooling at the tip of his dick as soon as he gets a firm grip around it.

"_Shit. _Nate. So fucking good." comes through loud and clear and Brad closes his eyes, so he can focus on the image burned into his brain.

Nate's on his belly, resting his weight on his forearms, palms holding Olivia's thighs to the bed as he licks slowly between her legs. Nate'll hold her legs steady, tongue teasing light pressure over her clit 'till she's soaking the sheets before he even thinks of letting her come.

Brad's thoughts stay on Nate. On his eyes green like clovers, intent on tackling the challenge, yet prideful at doing it more skillfully than anyone else. He thinks of Nate's mouth, cherry red and slick with arousal— practically pornographic— and he bites back a moan of his own.

Since when does he have jack off fantasies about his roommate's mouth?

Well, besides that one time with the cherry ice pop, but that was practically all of Bravo house.

Brad's thoughts shift back at Olivia's "Oh, shit. Shit Nate, I'm gonna. . ." but Brad hears Nate make a taunting "Nuh-uh" sound, imagines the muffled hot breath against her sex.

Jesusfuck.

He's going to have to figure out a way to Clorox his brain to get that sound out of his head. A moment later, he hears a thumping sound against the mattress that sounds suspiciously like Olivia's fists.

Brad focuses his mind back to Nate, totally in control of every precise lick and pressured flick, toying with her until he's ready to give her release. And suddenly his own climax is imminent, cock pulsing hard, light white-hot behind his eyes.

His thighs tremble as he fumbles back into his jeans, eager to get out of this room before he gets caught staining the sheets of someone's— Trombley's he recognizes— bed.

He needs a beer. Or five. Anything to wash away the sexually competent image of Nate that he knows will be fueling his jacks for weeks to come.

He rejoins Ray and Poke who are arguing about something, with Walt serving as moderator. Ray throws up his hands when he notices Brad's return.

"Buddy! You're back. How're you gonna leave your pal Ray-Ray like that? You go take a piss and I'm outnumbered by the minorities and the children of the corn," He says gesturing to Poke and Walt, respectively.

Poke crosses his arms grinning, while Walt looked genuinely offended. Brad reaches over and steals Ray's beer.

Sometime later, Nate saunters down the stairs, Olivia in tow, and walks her to the front door. She has the tell tale walk of someone who has been rode hard and put to bed wet. Brad averts his gaze.

Nate eventually saunters over, drink in hand, with Ray, Poke, and Walt gaping in disbelief.

"What?" Nate asks.

"You know what," Poke says evenly.

"Did I miss something?" Nate asks amused.

"C'mon, dude, Olivia Carmichael? What the fuck did you say to her?" Ray prods, evidently not letting this go.

Nate's cheeks are flushed with sex and he looks down into his Solo cup coyly. Brad tries to keep from comparing the red of Nate's cup to the color of his lips.

After a moment Nate gives them a level gaze, before locking eyes with Brad. With the way Nate is staring him down, it's hard not to wonder if Nate's conscious of his prior inadvertent voyeurism. He takes a pull of his beer to break eye contact.

"I told her I'd make her come so hard she wouldn't be able to feel her legs."

Brad chokes on his sip of beer and Nate laughs. The fucker.

"Evening, 'gents," Nate says with a dismissive tip of his head before heading in the direction of Mike and Brian. Brad watches him go.

Ray waits a beat, mulling over Nate's words.

"Nah. There's no way that worked."

Fin.


End file.
